Nightmare Fuel, Day the Twenty-Sixth - The Last Car

Into the homestretch now! Fortunately for the sake of this project I don't have the Netflix password, so don't have the temptation to sneak an episode of Stranger Things rather than finish this off (OK, I still have temptation. What I lack is the means to give in to it).

Anyway, we have a great bit of urban horror from Samantha Dunaway Bryant and something a bit lighter from Kary Gaul, who promises to soldier on through this project even as she prepares for NaNoWriMo next month.

Last Car

You saw her on the subway, in a not-too-crowded late morning car. Room to stand, but none to sit down. She was standing too, wearing leggings instead of pants the way women do these days. Well, girls really if you're honest about it. No way she was old enough to drink. Probably not old enough to vote either, but she filled those leggings out really well.

She must have caught you looking, because she turned all shy all of a sudden. Her back toward you, sneaking over to the next car. A glance over her shoulder at you as she pulled the heavy door open and tracknoise filled the car, then silence as the door slammed shut behind her.

You followed, of course. She wanted you to.

The door was heavy, but not too heavy to force open, pushing yourself into the space between trains. The track was a blur beneath you as the door slammed behind you, leaving you between cars with the rush of air and the noise of steel wheels on steel tracks in the tunnel deep below seventh avenue. You push at the door, hard. It resists at first, then flies open

into silence


The next car is empty. Completely dead empty. No sign of the girl, no other passengers. No foul smell to keep everyone out. Just... empty. Maybe she's playing hard to get? She's in the next car? You rush for that door, push it open. Again, emptyness. Maybe these cars don't platform. You turn back; she isn't worth it.

When you return the way you came, the car seems different. Some of the seats are missing, the bright rows of advertisements gone, leaving the car ringed in blank spaces. One more and you'd be back where you started. You force the door open one last time

and find yourself in an empty space, the shell of a traincar. No seats, but a few poles. You grab onto one as the train lurches through the darkness, the metal cold in your hand.